Sylvan Shadows
by Lord of 13
Summary: A short story loosely based on the concepts behind M:tG. All of the characters and factions correspond to magic color/s; however, this story is centered around two people in the larger plane of Ta'rul.


Consec closed his eyes while his hands sculpted the final motion in the ritual. The world, already darkened by his eyelids, began to fade away completely. He sensed the absolute absence of color, of light, of life. Neither white, nor black, nor blue nor green nor red was this realm of the gods.

Back in the mortal realm, his breath whooshed out of his body, expelled in moments by a force more powerful than mere magecraft. While Consec communed with his god, the Me'ki of the Starcrown, his mortal form was being was subject to stresses it could not withstand. Interrupted mid-thought by the demands of the mortal plane, his spirit was forcibly drawn back into its vessel.

Consec, angered by the interruption, prepared himself to lecture the acolyte that had most likely disturbed him. But when his eyes opened, he saw no one, and felt the supernatural assault that was crippling his body. His mind was calm, unruffled by the attempt on his life. He had grown accustomed to the intermittent attacks that threatened him and his order, and knew himself to be more than capable of coping with them.

Consec summoned forth his energies, and with great effort, furrowed his brow in thought. Without the easy use of limbs, he could only call upon limited clerical abilities. His first priority was air, and then he would deal with the assault. As he drew air into his lungs through a basic prayer, he thought he felt his ribs cracking. A quick prayer confirmed that such was the case. Working faster, Consec gathered together the energy in the room to create a misdirection of power in the far corner. The pressure relaxed, as it was being redirected into the corner. Consec shakily and hastily rose to his feet, his mouth moving quickly, his hands wreathed in white flame. He thrust his right hand forward, and uncurled the index finger from its fist, pointing to the corner in which he had created the spell suction. As he completed the words, he felt the pressure begin to re-exert itself upon him, then fade away, its caster distracted by the searing light that would be engraving the symbol of the Starcrown indelibly into their skull.

Consec fell back, forcing his battered body to signal his fellow believers about the attack before submitting to its limits and fading into unconsciousness.

When a small army of Heiromancers and a Baneslayer arrived, followed by a handful of straggling and fearful acolytes, they found the nearly dead cadaver of their leader, the Speaker of the Stars, Consec Driheej. The peaceful urban Heiromancers formed a close circle around the Speaker of the Stars, raising their arms heavenwards in supplication of healing. A hemisphere of silver power succoured the circle, allowing them to channel the surrounding energy into Consec. The Speaker's body did not stir, though inundated in forces of a scale similar to those that had assaulted him, save of a benign intent.

Meanwhile, the few Baneslayers raised ornate staves, carved from birchwood, completely sigiled with silver runes, such that little of the wood could be seen, and a funnel for their magic. They took up positions around the circle of Heiromancers, standing just outside the hemisphere, their staves pointed outwards, the forms of their wielders haloed with golden light. Their mouths moved, weaving a glorious anthem of purity and vengeance. They sought out the source of the lingering malevolent magic, and found the caster, marked by a brand shaped in the sign of the Starcrown. They peered more closely at the offender, to ensure that their justice was properly meted out.

Their target was cloaked in a dark grey that melded with the shadows, but his head was smooth and bald, marred only by the retribution Consec had exacted. A black and silver brooch marked him as an Assassin, the Me'ki of the Fallen Ideal's equivalent of a Baneslayer. His pointed ears marked him of elven descent, and jet black eyes that radiated malevolence told of a Demon parent. The Heiromancers' ire was roused, facing a rare half-elven half-demon. They had failed once before against one of his kind, maybe even this one. Only the Speaker of the Stars had been able to withstand his clerical casting.

One of the Baneslayers, Syean, spoke the final words of the prayer, banishing the apparation of the accursed from view. She stepped forward, her staff before her, and her two brethern Baneslayers fell into place behind her in a similar pose. They touched the tips of their staves together, and chorused a single syllable of vengeance. The apparation from which they had found the Assassin shimmered into their vision, showing the man as the spell completed. The Assassin shielded his face, caught by surprise, and flourished his arms in an ellipse, foiling their efforts.

The Baneslayers were taken aback; only the worshippers of the Me'ki of Inverted Reality could practice counterspells! He must be a Conspirer, one of the three that worshipped both the Fallen Ideal and Inverted Reality. He scowled, removing his brooch from its clasp. Holding it tightly between his left index finger & thumb, he sliced his right palm, letting the blood seep out of his veins. Turning his palms over the ground, he began to chant, his mouth revealed as a maw.

A blade, crafted of the void, began to form - or rather, to unform the reality around it. He slashed once towards the pigeon that the watching Baneslayers saw him through, and a clean, hard edged rectangle of a black deeper than the darkest of nights pierced the pigeon's breast, and slew one of the Baneslayers immediately. The Baneslayers worked frantically to silence him; the Sylvan demon's mouth, though it moved quickly, emenated no sound. They then cast their spell of vengeance again, confident of victory but shocked by their loss.

He tried one last time to counter their efforts, but to no avail as his form was reduced to petals, carried away by the gentle breeze. The two surviving Heiromancers stepped apart, their expressions indecipherable, but both of them more mourning over their brother's demise than pleased at their victory over such a potentially powerful foe.


End file.
